Zombie Galaxy by Scott Reeves

Author:Scott Reeves
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: walking dead, zombie apocalypse, christian science fiction, apocalyptic fiction, galactic empire, dystopian fiction, dystopia, religious science fiction
Publisher: Scott Reeves
Published: 2016-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

Rodor Batsalam

GALACTIC YEAR 912, Month 4, Day 12

7:00 PM Planetary Standard Time

THE ELEVATOR WAS CRAMPED. The immense box took up a lot of room, and what space was left was taken up by Rodor, his eleven companions, and the woman confined within the force cube.

They rode the elevator in near silence. Rodor’s soldiers whispered amongst themselves. Rodor himself didn’t speak. He watched the boy (young man, really, he corrected himself) squatting on the floor in one corner, huddled in on himself with his head buried between his knees.

Rodor felt sorry for Mal. Apparently they had both been victimized by the same man. The very event that had caused Rodor to pray for the downfall of civilization had been avenged. His prayers had been answered. But without his slow-boiling anger at the beast who had killed his daughter, what did he have left? What did it matter whether they survived or not, now?

He had lost his will to survive. He had blasted it into Bin Jamin’s forehead. As far as he was concerned, the new world order could die with the rest of civilization. His anger had been eased.

But he had made a promise to his soldiers, and so he would continue as planned. Because he did have something left, he realized. He had his honor, he had his faith. He was a man of his word. He was a man of the Word.

He watched the floors slowly tick upward on the display above the door. They were just passing the 100th floor. He sighed. It was going to be a long trip upward.

Kneeling down, he gently touched Mal’s knee. “You hungry, pal?”

Mal looked up and nodded. His eyes were rimmed with red, his cheeks wet.

Rodor beckoned to one of his men. “Wilsor, why don’t you break out some of that food?”

Wilsor nodded and shrugged out of the backpack strapped to his back. He unzipped it and began passing out food bars.

They ate in silence, and then sat around as the elevator rose to the building heights, sharing memories of the world that was passing away.

As they ate, Rodor noticed the blood on Mal’s pant leg and called Kulash over. The good doctor treated Mal’s leg, rinsed it with disinfectant, and bandaged the wound. It was merely a superficial flesh wound, and the young man would be fine.

About three hours later, the display above the door informed them that they had reached the 5,500th floor. End of the line. Just three floors below the roof.

Rodor stood and clapped his hands. “All right, let’s move out! Someone get young Mal a rifle.” He held his own rifle at the ready as the elevator doors slid open.

The enormous circular room was virtually identical to the one they had left so far below, right down to the infestation of infected. They shambled aimlessly about until the elevator doors opened to reveal Rodor and his men, whereupon they began shuffling in from all sides.

Rodor blasted a few away from the door and then stepped out of the car and moved aside, continuing to fire as others emerged to join in the slaughter.

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